


Trust No One

by avacash



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, I trust you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 13:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4102822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avacash/pseuds/avacash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On that fateful evening, Dipper lost a lot of things- namely, his faith in his uncle, and, much more tragically, his sister. He will do anything to get her back.</p><p>Two twins are left without their better half, and so their respective worlds descend into chaos. Dipper begins to sympathize with Stan's efforts, but won't even think of forgiving the man. Stan, on the other hand, is driven mad by the years he has lost. As they fall apart, so does their world.</p><p>This will be written in multiple chapters, each from a different character's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dipper Pines

"I trust you."

Nothing good can happen when a bond of trust is broken. Immediately, externally, something will change. That much is certain. However, more importantly, there is an internal alteration. I suppose trust could be called a rope suspended between two people, pulled taut; each word that breaks the trust is a slash of a knife to the rope. It might take seventy strikes, it might only take one, it might take time and tension, but eventually, the rope will snap. In this case, three words were all that needed, three slashes of a knife to the rope, which were akin to stabs to the back. Though it was she who spoke the words, it was he who lost my trust that night. He was the one to blame for her misgivings, and that is the only thing of which I can be certain any longer.

The light coming from the wall was more similar to moonlight than anything else- it had the vibrance and glare of the sun, yet only a reflection of something. No matter how bright, the portal could not match the warmth of family, something I doubt I can put into words. She could, though. Some amalgamation of stupidly simple vocabulary, smashed together into a haphazard clause, which would perfectly summarize the love she had. That light, however, has been extinguished.

The light flashed even brighter when she spoke, as if gasoline poured upon a flame. I remember a sharp booming sound then, as if we were contained inside of a timpani, followed by a ringing noise in my ears. Then, the light was gone, snuffed out, replaced with total darkness.

It took a moment for my eyes and ears to adjust to the silence, to the blackness. A distinct taste of copper in the air lingered on my tongue, before my senses were overtaken by a foul, burning smell. The dryness of the air made the sensations all the more severe, forcing a nosebleed. Only after a few moments, a few seconds, did I realize that I was on the ground, and the coppery taste was blood from my tongue and cheek. When the feeling returned to my hands, tingling as if ants were crawling over my skin, I noticed a wetness on my fingertips. Blood loss quickly led to my passing out, into a dreamless sleep.

I dread sleep, for I am haunted by memories. And a dick-ish demon, but that's an entirely different conversation. Another time.

"I trust you."

I awoke to those words, though no one had said them. I was alone, in the attic room, on my bed. Reflex told me to turn my head, to see if Mabel was awake, but the pain in my neck prevented me from doing so. A lack of obnoxious noises told me the answer, though. It took a few minutes to stand, to see what all I had done. All in all, I was in much better shape than I had thought down in the basement-

We have a basement. Huh.

\- with only one broken bone, as my arm was set in a sling. I saw a few bruises elsewhere, some scratches from the cement floor scraping along my skin, but nothing major. I wonder when Stan learned to splint broken bones.

Using my left hand to open the door was difficult, as my fingers were numb. Everything was numb. I could not feel the pain in any of my injuries, nor could I feel those areas which were unharmed; I was too out of it to notice, or care, or feel. Walking down the stairs, I noted each step, mechanically placing one foot in front of the other, careful not to trip and fall. My sight was blurry, everything fading into everything else, as I saw two sets of stairs before me, so the journey down the steps lasted several minutes longer than anticipated.

Upon reaching the foyer, I placed a hand on the door, leaning my head against the wood for support. Stationary, I grasped that brass knob as if clinging on to someone's hand, to keep them from falling through a crack in a mountaintop. Bracing myself, I opened the door, to face the open world- I was met with silence, and darkness. There was no moon in the sky that night. Earlier, the sky was filled with color, but the red sun had since set.

Taking a few steps, the wood creaked beneath my feet. A beetle made his way onto my foot, and up my pant leg, leading me to brush it off with my hand. Although it was empty, save for me and a few bugs, the porch seemed heavy, sagging slightly. Upon further inspection, I found that the floorboards were still damp, from the water we had thrown at it earlier that day. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

"I trust you."

I thought I heard the words again, coming from beneath the house, but underneath my feet were only the squished carcasses of beetles, and the creaky, cracked wood. I walked onward, towards the road, not knowing where I intended to end up. The gravel crunched with each step, rhythmically accompanying me as I faltered down the road. I don't think anything was going through my head at that point, as the headache I had did not allow much room for coherent thought.

It was only after about a half an hour of walking- though it seemed much longer- that I realized I was barefoot. The calluses on my feet weren't thick enough, as they poked at my feet. Eventually I stopped, when the pain broke through the numbness. With a rush, it started flooding in. My arm was throbbing, every joint and muscle aching, my skin searing as if it had been burned. The pounding in my head grew stronger with each step, but I kept walking. Stopping in the middle of the street would lead to nothing good, I had to reach my destination first, before I could rest.

Thankfully, it was not long before I arrived. The cabin was short, and stout, and friendly. Now, though, it was shrouded in darkness, the windows reflecting nothing but the eerie trees surrounding it. Approaching the door quietly, I hesitated, my hand trembling before the wood, afraid to knock, afraid to wake those who slept beyond the walls.

After a minute of hesitation, I lowered my hand, and slumped down to the ground. Leaning against the wall adjacent to the door, I let my eyes fall shut. Without the stimuli of sight around me, my mind cleared quickly, and my head stopped spinning. Only one thought was there, now that the ache had gone. Just one phrase.

"I trust you."

The words echoed in my head, so frequently and robotically that they lost their meaning, and simply became a repetitive noise. I guess I had heard them a thousand times before, followed by a thousand smiles, and a thousand reaffirming statements, where things finally went okay. Never before had I heard my sister say the words to someone else, to defy me- at least, not in such a significant way. I cannot blame her. Perhaps I should, but I won't. They say it's rude to disrespect the dead.


	2. Wendy Corduroy

There were loads of cars, loads of them, surrounding the place. Dozens, I think. All sleek, and black, the sorts that you'd see on a cop show. Or maybe one of those shitty old movies with a ton of toy cars in a chase, about to be blown up. The point is, it was very impressive, and very unprecedented. Like, I knew that Stan was, well, an odd guy, to say the least. Everyone knows that. But this? Government agents coming in and investigating the Mystery Shack for god knows what reason, I mean... Why were they there? What were they doing? Where were they taking Mr. Pines? And where did they put the twins? I had a ton of questions, but it was not the time to ask. Nope, I had to just get the hell out of there. 

I just ran. I didn't take the golf cart, though thinking back I should have, I just ran. I don't remember what was going through my head at the time, I just remember running. It only takes about five minutes to reach my family's cabin in the woods if you run fast enough. 

Slamming the door behind me, I leaned against the cypress walls, my chest heaving. It took a moment for me to catch my breath, but even when I did, I didn't feel any better at all. My breath was normal, after a minute, but my heart was still beating as if trying to break through my chest, as if I was still running. I felt like I was still running, even though I was safe at home.

Thankfully, my dad was delivering a shipment of wood out in his truck, my brothers no doubt in tow, so I had the house to myself. I walked to the kitchen, then, a hand on my chest to try to contain my heart in my ribcage. I'm not a very good cook, so I just put a pair of slices of bread in the toaster, and got some jam from the fridge. Spreading the thick stuff on the burnt slices, I made my way to my bedroom, carefully suspending the toast on my shirt so as not to burn my hands.

Though I knew I was alone, I locked my door. My heart was still pounding madly, so I breathed deeply, setting the toast in a precarious position atop the bedframe. Atop. I'm picking up pretentious words from Dipper, it seems. 

I thumbed through my old shitty movie collection, and found nothing appealing. After a moment of consideration, I sat on my bed, and turned on the TV. Flipping through the channels, going through the numbers a few times over, I found nothing, again. It's hard to find joy in bad shows when you have no one to laugh with. Eventually I settled on the local news, and tuned that out as I ate my toast. 

The first time everything started floating, I flipped out. The reporter on the television screamed as she went out of frame, the box slowly rising in the air. The lamp yanked its cord out of the socket, and the curtains flew into the air, filling my room with the sunlight filtered through the creaking trees outside the window. As I was sitting cross legged, with jam covered fingers, I didn't grab onto anything quick enough, as I levitated. The sensation was cool, for just a moment, before I puked.

Then, the spell was broken- the lamp fell, shattering, the television as well, and I toppled to the ground. I think I hit my head on the bedpost, because I don't remember... I think I blacked out after that.

When I woke, to a loud composite of crashes and thumps, my dad still wasn't home. Nor were my brothers. The curtain-rod had since fallen, and my room was in complete disarray, as if it had been looted while I slept. I stepped towards the window, to see through the matrix of leaves a bright red sky. I'm no sailor, but I do know the words, and a red sun is never a good omen. Never.

I decided to stay in. I had no idea what the hell was going on, if I was in a dream, or if I was awake. The throbbing pain coming from the new knot in my head did make it all seem real. Quickly, I made the rounds, a bit late, to every possible entrance of my house. Every lock on every door, every bolt on every window... but I suppose gravity isn't bothered by the lack of a key.

A few minutes passed, before another one happened. This time, though, I was prepared. I braced myself against the doorway, my fingernails digging into the birch frame. That one lasted longer, and was much more intense. It was almost a full minute before I could let go of the wood. I was tempted to spend the next few minutes digging out splinters from my palms, but something much more worrisome occurred to me.

My cell phone was in my pocket, thankfully undamaged. It was, however, constantly vibrating and ringing, as it received message after message from every person in my contact book. Every person, that is, save for those for who I was immediately concerned. Oddly, the first person that came to mind was Soos. That guy amuses me consistently, and he's so genuine, and so kind, I guess I just want to make sure he was okay after- well, whatever it was that happened at the Mystery Shack. 

Soos didn't answer his phone. I tried Dipper. I tried Mr. Pines. The landline for the shack, Mabel's phone... none of them answered.  Not one. I suppose, though, if they are in the hands of the government, they're safe. I hope.

I lingered, as I looked at my dad's number. I couldn't call, for some reason. If they're all right, well, there's no reason for me to call, and no reason for them to call, right? And if something's wrong, then they'd call me. So, no reason to be worried.

I'm still running, aren't I?

__

I don't remember falling asleep, but I vividly remember waking to the sound of soft snoring, coming from outside. Beside my bed, I had an axe, and grabbed that, for means of self defense should someone attack me. Gingerly, I walked through the plaid lined hallway, approaching the door as silently as possible. Through the peephole I couldn't see anyone out there, but I heard the snoring- soft, childish- and then a few words.

"I trust you."

Barely audible, I could still make them out, and I rushed to open that door, and let Dipper in. The boy was asleep, though, awkwardly leaning against the wall, clearly exhausted. Resting the axe against the doorframe, I walked outside, and hefted Dipper up into my arms. After carrying him in, over the threshold, and through the hallway, and into my room, I laid him in my bed. Tucking him in, I tried not to disturb his arm- it was bound in a sling. 

He looked so peaceful, lying there, gently muttering nothing with each exhale. I felt a bit creepy watching him sleep, so I left the room, and went to close the front door. To my surprise, it was already shut. I suppose it must have been the wind. Grabbing the axe once more, I returned to the kitchen. Robotically, like an automaton set to repeat motions regularly, without pause and without haste, I reached into the cabinet, and pulled out two glasses. From the fridge, orange juice. I went back to my room, with two glasses of juice, and one axe over my shoulder. 

Dipper was sitting up, staring ahead of him. I'm not sure if he was awake or not. I set the axe down, underneath the bed, and walked around beside him. Setting the glasses on the dresser, I walked around the foot of the bed, and took a seat.

"Hey, Dipper, you awake?"

He nodded. His eyes were unfocused, staring straight ahead, at nothing, as if he was staring at a ghost. Glassy eyed, with bags under his lids, he looked as though he had not slept for weeks. It was only then that I noticed the scratches on his cheeks, the sheer abundance of bruises and injuries all over his skin. Leaning over, towards him, I brushed his hair back, out of his eyes, to try to catch his attention. 

"Are you okay?"

No reaction. Nothing. He just sat there, staring at the wall where the television used to be. I don't know what he expected to see there, what he expected me to do. Awkwardly, I remained frozen in my position, my legs dangling off the edge of the bed, my torso twisted to lean towards him. 

"I brought you orange-"

"Crazy."

He chose that moment to interrupt, though I don't think he really registered that I was speaking. Slowly, his head turned, to look me dead in the eyes. Usually there was such happiness there, or at least some sort of fire, some sort of drive. But now, there was nothing. His gaze was empty, as if the life had been drained from his stare. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, the words strained, though I could not tell if it was because he had been yelling, or crying, or both.

"I... I called her crazy and now... she's..."

I was silent. I couldn't let him finish that sentence, though, so I shook my head. 

It's not fair that we condemn men and boys for crying. I don't think it's "unmanly" or whatever to show your true feelings. There comes a point, though, where whatever your convictions are, you cannot deny that tears are a necessity. I don't think Dipper cared about trying to prove himself anymore, to anyone, for any reason, as he broke down. I moved over to sit beside him, and gently hugged him. It's rather hard to hug someone with their arm in a sling, while you're both on a cramped bed. Especially when they're crying. Even though I had silently begged him not to, his tears finished his sentence in a much more definite manner than words ever could.


	3. Agent 'Trigger' Johnson

When the kids ran off, I knew I was done for. There was no chance of a promotion now- Powers would see to that. My car was totaled, and I had been outmaneuvered by children. I'm surprised I was even allowed to stay on the force, let alone the mission. Powers lost track of Pines when his car started floating in the air. His car, along with the two accompanying, was totaled as well upon crashing to the ground. Thankfully, he blamed my accident on the anomaly, rather than on my own carelessness. I had to make up for it somehow, though.

It turns out that when the paranormal disruption occurred, Pines was nowhere near the shack. It really was dumb luck that he happened to live on top of the activity. The BOLO was lifted, as was the warrant for his immediate arrest. As punishment for my carelessness I guess, I was assigned with the task of the paperwork. That alone took several hours. There is nothing I hate more in the world than paperwork.

In the morning, Powers and I went to the Mystery Shack, to see what exactly had happened there the previous evening. No agents were at the place at the time, as all were chasing after Pines. Upon arriving at the house, at dawn, Powers and I saw that the place looked deserted, and a bit shabbier than before. It appeared that the eye of the storm was not exempt to whatever it was that caused the fault in gravity.

Pines was sitting in the living room when we came in. The television was on, muted, playing one of those ridiculous local programs that you see in all small towns. Stanford was asleep on the couch, though it didn't take much to wake him- Powers' slamming the door was enough for that. The man sat up with a start, with a groan. After all that Powers had told me about the man, it was hard to see him in that light. That this sleazy old man could be the mastermind behind something was difficult to believe, especially considering that he was apparently nowhere near the place when the incident occurred.

I don't think Powers quite forgave Pines for escaping from his custody. Within a few minutes, we were set up for an awkward interrogation in the kitchen, Powers and I stuffed into wicker chairs across from the bitter old man, each of us equipped with a mug of coffee as fuel to aid us in the oncoming conversation. My partner isn't much for small talk, so we jumped right into the talk without beating around the bush.

"Where were you yesterday evening, when the anomaly occurred?" Powers' voice was gruff, as always, monotone, and yet it was clear that he had some sort of emotion behind the words. No sentiment, just anger. We had been on this case for years, now, and whatever it was that happened yesterday had forced us to suspend our belief in all the facts we- he- had gathered. Everything we thought we knew was proven wrong in the matter of a few hours, and Powers was pissed.

Stan just shrugged. "I have no idea what you're talking about." Trying to seem nonchalant, he took a sip of his coffee. I could see the steam coming from the mug as he lowered it, trying not to alert us to the fact he had burned his tongue. "All I know is that you jerks were chasing after me for-"

"Now listen here, you convict." Powers was becoming more flustered in his tone, the color rising in his face as his nostrils flared. "When we opened up that cab you weren't-"

"Well, I wasn't gonna stick around, now, was I? You put a fucking BOLO on me!" He had a point, and he responded with equivalent anger, slamming a curled fist on the table. Our mugs splashed a bit of coffee on the wood, but neither Powers nor Pines seemed to notice.

My partner opened his mouth to respond, but I interrupted. "We apologize for the misunderstanding yesterday afternoon. Compensation will be made for any lost profits, but we cannot undo what has been done. What we can do, though, is our jobs." I cleared my throat, trying not to think about the fact that the man was probably laughing at me inside of his head. It did cross my mind that it was odd that he wasn't laughing aloud- It seems the previous day's events had made him develop some boundaries. "So please, tell us anything you can about whatever occurred here yesterday. Hopefully, you can help us, and we can help you in return."

The words were met with a glare of vile contempt, magnified threefold by the lenses of his thick glasses. "I highly doubt that."

"Can you tell us where your niece and nephew are?" I admit, I was worried about the children. They had spoken of coming back to this shack, and since, there had been no word. An Amber Alert might be necessary, should Pines report that they were missing.

The response left me temporarily uneasy, in that there was none. After having stared at me so intently for the duration of our exchange, he broke his glare, shifting his gaze towards the lower staircase entrance over my shoulder. We were all three stationary for a moment, before Powers in his social ignorance turned around to look behind us. "What the hell are you staring at? Answer the question!"

Mr. Pines shook his head slightly, lowering his eyes to look at the mug he had set on the table. Powers looked as if he was about to burst, when we heard the screen door of the shop slam shut. All of us turned to look round at the entrance to the living room, waiting, as footsteps approached. They were uneven, limping and slow, but light. It was clear to whom they belonged, so we waited to hear the second set of steps. They never came, it was just the boy.

Stan's thick brow relaxed, and I swear a smile nearly came to his face, until he saw Dipper's expression. I had never seen such hatred, and I could not tell whether it was aimed towards me, my partner, Pines, all of us, or no one in particular. That expression is burned in my memory, even though it was only there for a second, before his intense glare calmed.

"Agent Powers. Trigger." He didn't look his great uncle in the eye, he just sort of stared aimlessly ahead.

"What happened here last night? Where's your sister?" Powers, again being an inconsiderate asshole, interjected. He didn't seem to care that Dipper's arm was in a sling, or that the boy looked as though he had been put through a wood chipper.

"We got back a few minutes before the last anomaly occurred." He spoke slowly, steadily, as if the words had been rehearsed. "I stayed outside, and Mabel-" His voice faltered a bit on his sister's name. "Mabel went into the shack. A branch dropped on my head when everything fell, and I don't remember anything after that." Dipper looked me dead in the eyes. "I woke up in bed, Stan had patched me up, but Mabel was nowhere to be seen. I think whoever was really behind the anomaly might have kidnapped her."

I have to admit it was a bit creepy, seeing the boy so emotionless in comparison to his usual hyperactive state, and without his constant companion. Glancing at Stan, I saw that he was stone-faced and cold, but clearly trying to keep any emotion from our view. He was trying rather hard, as his chin seemed to tremble. Dipper did not seem to notice, or care for that matter, about his uncle's state of mind, as he approached me calmly.

"She's not here. Nor is anything else of your concern. So unless you have some new evidence you'd like to bring to our attention, my uncle and I would greatly appreciate it if you would get out."

Powers didn't like that very much.

**Author's Note:**

> I have twin sisters, and from years of observing them, I feel I can accurately write such a relationship. Seeing the two of them separated for even a little while takes its toll, on me, on them, on our parents... to imagine them permanently separated is horrific, to say the least. So, when I watched that last episode of Gravity Falls, me being the horrible person that I am, I thought, "What if both of them were without their better half?" And here's the result of that. I'm sorry.


End file.
